There is, in fact, someone there. His lantern gives him away more than anything — prone at a pew to whisper the same prayers he does every time he ends up in the church. So far the basement scientist creature hasn't bothered him, so this place seems as good as any to try and keep up the practice.

Even though it's feeling a little hollow these days. Without a priest, it's hard to feel much in the way of guidance. Trying blindly for redemption in deafening silence has not inspired a lot of confidence, and yet the habits are too ingrained in him to stop all the same. If God could hear him, as always, he's being super tightmouthed about everything. It's not anything new, it just feels more exhausting in Beacon without any other support to his faith.

Matt thumbs a bead on his rosary, mildly considering just ignoring the voice and the echoing footsteps and keeping at his hail marys. Then the same song that's been drumming in his head off and on for weeks starts muttering in his subconscious again and he forgets where he was. Which makes it easier to just give it up entirely.

"I'm not sure what faith it's supposed to be, but I'm fairly certain it isn't Christian." As much as a blind guy can tell anything, but there's not a lot of religious imagery to suggest it. There's a good chance he wasn't being spoken to, but Matt answers all the same. "But a church is a church, if that's what you're looking for."